


melting frozen hearts

by Alienu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Boys In Love, Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Texting, They're cute, haha dreamnotfound go brrr, ice skating au brr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/pseuds/Alienu
Summary: George gulps, feeling the burning gaze of the ice skater on the back of his head, and takes a deep breath.Right, it’s fine. You’re just practicing. No need to be embarrassed.“Are you new?”Aka another DNF ice skating AU
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 618
Collections: MCYT





	melting frozen hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NETHERW4RT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/gifts).



> this was lowkey rushed im sorry
> 
> thanks for the idea dev here is ur payment for that juicy surfer dream content

When George decided to learn how to ice skate, this is not what he expected to happen. He did not expect to be watching the most beautiful man he’s ever seen glide across the ice with all the grace of a swan, completely unaware of his presence.

  
He looks down at the ice skates in his hands, suddenly feeling horribly stupid compared to the very obvious professional in front of him. George shakes his head, deciding that he won’t let this slight... _distraction_ stop him from at least getting a hang on the feel of skating. So he settles him down on the bench, puts the damn skates on, and stands unsteadily. It’s a bit different from rollerblades, but he figures that once he gets on the ice it’ll be more familiar and easy. 

This, of course, is completely wrong. The ice is slippery under his feet and he nearly falls over at first if not for him grabbing onto the wall at the last second. Fuck, this is going to be harder than he thought. George gulps, feeling the burning gaze of the ice skater on the back of his head, and takes a deep breath. _Right, it’s fine. You’re just practicing. No need to be embarrassed._

For some reason, his thoughts don’t reassure him in the slightest.

He lets go of the wall hesitantly, his feet begin to slide out from under him. Okay. This should be just like rollerblading, right? He pushes off, a slight smile tilting his lips when he begins to glide forward. It’s a little different from rollerblading, but not so much so. After a moment he feels himself begin to get the hang of it, pushing forward in a steady rhythm and watching the opposite wall become closer and closer. The air of the rink blows cool in his face, quiet sounds of metal on ice filling the silence. A smile tugs at his lips. So far this isn’t too hard.

“Are you new?”

George jumps in surprise, turning around and instantly forgetting he’s on skates. His heart leaps to his throat as he flails, losing balance and skittering desperately against the slippery ice in an attempt to right himself. It’s futile, and he feels his weight begin to pull him downwards, towards the hard ground. But the impact never comes (a relief for his poor back), because a pair of steady hands grip his wrist and slide under his back, and then he’s staring up into eyes of molten gold, shimmering with warm mirth and apologetic amusement. His hands are like tendrils of fire on his skin, burning him to the touch and sending redness flooding to his cheeks.

The man smiles kindly, helping him right himself with a gentle tug. The hands retreat, landing back at his sides. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles, his voice rough in a way that makes George’s breath hitch in his throat, “sorry, I was just curious.”

The shuffling of metal on ice fills the air as he moves back a little, fingers rubbing at the spot on his wrist where the guy had touched him, feeling the hot skin tingle with everlasting warmth. “It’s fine,” he replies softly, visibly wincing at the awkwardness in his tone. George clears his throat and tries again. “I didn’t get mortally injured or anything, so..” 

The man laughs at that, and it’s high pitched and an odd sort of wheeze, one that reminds him a lot like a tea kettle, and satisfaction warms him. He made him laugh. “Very true,” he says with a charming grin. George swallows back the urge to poke the dimples that surface at the action. He holds a hand out, the skin looking rough and calloused, “my name is Dream. Yours?”

He takes his hand almost hesitantly, feeling the heated skin under the pads of his fingers, and shakes it. “George,” he says, his own name tasting foreign on his tongue. “Thanks for, um...helping me.”  
  


“No need,” he responds cheerfully, not bothering to hide the glance he takes at George’s skates, which have probably been chosen very poorly considering he knows nothing about ice skating. “Ah. So you _are_ new, aren’t you?”

“...Yeah, I am. Was it that obvious?” George answers after a moment of internal debate. Dream chuckles a little. “I figured it’d be fun to learn, I guess.”

“It is fun,” Dream agrees easily, pushing back a little so that he can glide in circles on the ice. George watches in awe, taking in the way he holds himself, confident and professional. Clearly an expert, if the way his body subtly adjusts to counteract any change in balance says anything. He continues, words bouncing off the walls of the large building, “It’s a bit hard to get down though.”

“How long have you been skating?” George slides his way over to the wall, gripping the barriers and almost hissing at the freezing surface. It warms quickly under his touch, bringing him some relief, and he straightens to watch Dream skate around the rink easily, hands clasped behind his back and cheeks flushed from the cold air. There’s a contemplative hum, a few beats of silence, then he circles closer.

“I think since I was...fourteen?” He cocks his head in thought, “It’s been a long time. My parents used to take us on weekly trips to the nearby ice skating rink during winter.” A wistful smile tilts his lips. George then notices the myriad of freckles that speckle his face like handfuls of stardust, scattering across the bridge of his nose and throughout his upper cheeks. Dream pushes a strand of fluffy hair out of his eyes, pausing for a second as if he’s almost hesitant, and then continues, “I can help you learn how to skate, if you want.”

“You-” He blinks, “You would do that?” That’s...oddly kind of him. 

Dream shrugs, smiling, those dimples appearing again in the process, “I don’t really mind. It’s nice to skate with someone every once in a while, you know?” 

George doesn’t, but he nods along and shuffles his way along the wall. Dream skates closer, sliding to a stop in front of him, and holds out an inviting hand. He looks at it for a moment, uncertainty tainting his gaze, but Dream tilts his head and he looks up again to meet the kaleidoscope of greens that are his eyes, seeing the sincerity and the warmth in his gaze.

Fuck.

He sighs, knowing that this is likely going to be bad, letting Dream’s charming smiles and eyes drag him closer. But he takes the hand nonetheless, and Dream dons another bright grin, this one satisfied and pleased, and then drags him away from the wall. George flails and almost falls back, but suddenly Dream is holding both of his hands, and George can once again feel the calloused texture of his palms under the pads of his fingers. 

“Widen your stance,” Dream orders softly, skating backwards slowly so that George is dragged with him, “okay, not _that_ wide.” 

“Sorry,” He mutters, feeling the tips of his ears tingle with redness. Dream wheezes a little in response, nodding his head in approval when George adjusts his feet.

“You’re really awkward, you know that?” He comments offhandedly. George splutters indignantly, cheeks beginning to burn, but Dream only wheezes harder and has to pause for a second just to catch his breath before continuing, “Okay, now that your stance is good, just...lift a foot and push forward.”

“Push forward,” he echoes, swallowing nervously. _Just like rollerblading._ One foot slides ahead, hesitant and careful, and Dream grins approvingly. 

“Keep going. You gotta do it more than once, you know.” His eyes crinkle in amusement when George shoots an unamused glare at him, backing up enough so that only the tips of their fingers are touching. The warmth is almost— _almost—_ missed. “If you think you’re going to fall, lean your weight back.” 

“Okay,” George breathes over the sound of his beating heart, staring down and watching himself skate across the ice smoothly. Dream lets go of him soon enough, trusting him not to fall, and so he glides across the area with Dream skating by his side, the cool air blowing against his flushed cheeks. The end of the rink approaches far more quickly than he would’ve liked and he channels all of his knowledge from rollerblading, leaning his weight to the side slightly to make a slow, steady turn. Maybe this is more like rollerblading than he originally thought.

The next hour or so is spent trying not to fall on his ass as Dream laughs beside him. It’s strange having someone to teach and skate with him. George has always been a loner when it comes to rollerblading, seeing as it’s not a very common thing for people to do nowadays. It’s kind of nice, having someone to teach him as opposed to learning by what does and does not make him crash to the ground. Dream is a surprisingly good teacher—even if he spends more of the time laughing at him and his lack of both skating and social skills rather than helping—but the blond’s touches send blizzards of warmth raging through his stomach, so maybe falling over a couple of times is worth it. 

“You should get new skates,” he comments, watching George skid to a stop, turn, and start skating to the other side to practice his braking. “You chose like, the worst brand.”

“Not surprising,” George mutters under his breath. Out of all the ice skates online, of course he was smart enough to choose the below average ones. Admittedly, they had gotten a lot of four star reviews, but that’s besides the point. He slides to a stop and places a hand on the wall, turning to watch Dream as he pulls out his phone. A mumbled curse rings quietly through the air. George tilts his head, “Which brand would be better, then?”

“Depends,” Dream begins making his way towards the exit of the rink. George frowns a little, watching as Dream snatches up his bag and sits down on a bench, beginning to pull off his skates. George moves closer, enough so that he’s on the other side of the wall between the rink and the stands, watching the blond fiddle with his laces. “Lots of people have different preferences, but some brands are blatantly worse than others.” A pause. “Like yours, for example.”

He stores this information in the back of his mind, inquiring, “Are you leaving?” 

“I told my mom that I’d take my little sister out for lunch today,” Dream explains, tugging a skate off to reveal plain white socks, “I lost track of time.”

“Oh,” he says simply, flattening down the disappointment in his words. _Are you going to come back?_ The urge to ask is crushed under the knowledge that he should probably leave too. It’s been two hours since he’d arrived and his feet are crying for a rest, despite his mind’s insistence to keep going. “I should probably leave too, then.” He slides over to the door, watching Dream tug the last shoe on (Nike? Really?) and shove his skates into his bag. 

He stands with a soft noise of effort, shaking each of his feet to probably get used to the feeling of walking on solid ground again. George leans against the cold door, blinking in surprise when Dream looks towards him, “If you want, I can text you the good brands I know and we can go from there.”

“Text me?” George parrots stupidly, looking bemused. Dream chuckles and digs a pen out of his pocket. What the fuck? _Is he asking for my number?_

“Yeah,” his smile falls slightly at the rather dumbfounded look on George’s face, “unless you don’t want to.”

Alarms blare loud in his head, screaming at him to do something before Dream takes it the wrong way. “Wait, wait,” his body jerks into action, scrambling to yank the door open. He almost trips and falls in the process, but the look on Dream’s face, bemused and entertained but bashful all at once is so worth it. He holds out his hand, pointing to it. He probably looks stupidly desperate, holding his hand out and leaning half his body over the door, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. “I don’t have paper, just write it there.”

Dream blinks bemusedly. “You...want me to write on your hand.” He repeats slowly.

“Yeah,” a pause, then he scratches the back of his neck uncertainly, “is that weird? My phone is all the way in my bag and I don’t…”

Dream begins to wheeze. It’s loud and makes his cheeks flush red with embarrassment, but the blond doubles over and can’t suppress his hysteric giggles. George stares at him with heated cheeks. Fuck, he should’ve known it was a stupid idea. Does he find him odd now? Damn it.

“You’re really cute,” Dream’s voice pulls him out of his panicked flurry of thoughts, and when the words register it only serves to fluster him more. Dream looks winded, out of breath from the bout of laughter, but wears an affectionate grin and walks closer to hold his hand steady. The pen on his skin feels odd, not painful, but weird or maybe even ticklish as it drags over the palm of his hand. It takes a few moments of silent concentration, but soon George has a long string of numbers written sloppily across his hand, with a little smiley face drawn at the end. Dream looks satisfied with that and shoves the pen into his pocket, turning with a small wave. “Talk to you later, George.”

George nods, shoving down the giddy butterflies beginning to manifest in his gut. _Talk to you later._ The sentence makes a smile tug at the corners of his lips. He watches Dream’s figure retreat, disappearing behind glass doors and in the bright sunlight outside. The heat in his cheeks has yet to dissipate, persisting even as George just stands there, staring with a stupidly dopey smile at the numbers written in black ink on his pale skin. 

It takes him a long moment to finally move, open the door and step onto solid ground for the first time in hours. The new sensation is strange, as he’d become so accustomed to feeling the familiar texture of ice under his feet, but he stumbles over to his bag without falling and plops onto the bench with a sigh. His phone is cold from the air, even as he pulls it out of his bag and taps the screen twice, watching it brighten with the familiar background picture he’d chosen the day he got it. The cold air tastes odd on his tongue as he takes a deep breath, glancing down once more at the scrawl on his palm, then the open keyboard on his screen.

_Message inbox to_ **Dream**

_is this Dream?_

_it’s george from the ice skating rink :]_

The response comes quicker than he expects. Had Dream been waiting for him to text?

**I was wondering how long it was going to take you**

**anyway**

**are you free this weekend?**

_yeah_

_i’m free anytime this weekend_

**awesome**

**do you wanna do some skating practice on saturday? we can grab lunch too if you’re down :)**

**i’ll pay**

A smile tugs his lips upwards.

_you sound like you’re asking me on a date_

_i didn’t take you for a simp lmao_

**Dream is typing . . .**

George frowns, watching the three dots appear and disappear, every moment that passes dragging by slowly. Did he say something wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t make those jokes. Fuck. Had he already screwed up? His phone buzzes quietly. 

**it can be a date if you want it to be ;)**

George’s fingers hover over the keyboard. He takes a breath, shifts a little on the bench. The skates drag uncomfortably against the floor, clearly not made for the hard ground.

_srs?_

**yeah**

_oh_

_that’d be cool_

**‘cool’ LMAOO**

**you’re so cute**

_wthaht the iffucjk_

**LOL**

**it’s a date! :D**

**see you saturday <3**

George lets a shaky breath pass from between his lips. A date with Dream. An ice skating date, no less. He’s already in too deep, isn’t he? Dream’s charming smile drew him in like a moth to a flame and now he’s stuck in the trap, stuck thinking about his green eyes and fluffy blond hair, stuck thinking about the way his hands felt, rough and smooth all at once, burning him to the touch. He swallows, letting his fingers move on their own to type a response.

_see you saturday :]_

**Author's Note:**

> follow my twitter @Alienu_
> 
> follow dev's twitter @devoutsinnerao3
> 
> we're both cool i promise


End file.
